


our hearts will make a fire

by bayloriffic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cabin Fic, F/F, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayloriffic/pseuds/bayloriffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Emma would end up trapped in Rumpelstiltskin’s enchanted log cabin with the Evil Queen. Because that’s just how her life is these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

Emma’s not sure when running away became Henry’s new response to everything, but she’s definitely sure it’s pissing her off. 

It’s another argument with Regina that does it, of course. Regina wants to have a birthday party for Henry at her house, and Emma says no. So they get into what could possibly be described as a yelling match outside of City Hall. Not that Emma would describe it that way, but Mary Margaret does, so. There may have been a little yelling.

It wouldn’t even be that big of a deal, but Henry overhears and takes off, running away just like he did that day with Neal in the diner.

So they split up -- David and Mary Margaret heading down near the docks, Neal staying in town, and Emma and Regina searching the forest. 

To Emma’s way of thinking, Regina's the only reason they're in this mess, so Her Majesty shouldn’t be a part of their search to find him. But Regina insists, and Emma’s not about to spend even more of her time bickering with her arch nemesis while her son is out there somewhere. 

Which is how Emma finds herself spending her afternoon tromping through the woods on the outskirts of town, Regina close on her heels. 

At first, Regina won’t shut up, making constant snide remarks about Emma’s lack of maternal prowess. Emma tunes her own as best she can, focusing on checking her phone for updates from David or Mary Margaret or Neal and keeping her eyes peeled for her wayward son. 

By the time the sun starts to set, they still haven’t found him, and Emma tries hard to ignore the sick knot of anxiety forming in her throat. Regina’s stopped talking altogether, and she’s looking just about as anxious as Emma feels, squinting out into the growing darkness, a line of worry creasing her forehead.

They keep walking until they get to Gold’s cabin, which is about as far as they can go and still be in Storybrooke. The cabin looks dark and unwelcoming, but it’s possible Henry could have ducked inside for a while to get away from the cold. 

“You think he’d go in there?” she asks Regina, nodding at the cabin. 

Regina looks doubtful. “Perhaps...” 

Emma checks her phone again. Nothing. She sighs, giving the ever-darkening sky a worried glance. The air smells like snow and it’s getting colder by the minute. They’re pretty much at the edge of town, and she doesn’t think Henry would actually leave Storybrooke, no matter how upset he is.

“Okay,” she decides. “Let’s check it out and then I’ll give David a call.”

“What a brilliant plan,” Regina mutters, already heading in the direction of the cabin, stepping carefully in her impractical high heels over a fallen branch. Emma glares at her back as she follows her to the cottage. 

Inside, the cabin looks empty, but she and Regina head inside, both of them calling desperately for Henry. 

They've pretty much determined Henry's not there when Emma's phone rings, making her jump. 

“Hello?”

“Emma,” David says, sounding relieved. “We found him.”

“Oh, thank god,” Emma says, running a hand through her hair. Regina looks over at her, and Emma gives her a thumbs up. _They found him_ she mouths, and Regina closes her eyes, looking almost absurdly relieved. 

“Is he okay?” Emma asks into the phone.

“He’s fine,” David tells her, and Emma leans back against the door in relief. It closes with a quiet click. “A little cold, but –”

Her phone goes out, cutting David off mid-sentence.

“Henry’s okay?” Regina asks. 

“Yeah,” Emma says vaguely, staring at her phone. The display shows no signal, and it won’t connect when she tries to call David back. 

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Emma says, shaking her phone like that will somehow make the signal come back. “David says Henry’s with him and that he’s fine, but we got cut off before he could tell me anything else.”

“Well, call him back and find out,” Regina orders, as though Emma isn't in the process of doing just that.

“I’m trying,” Emma snaps, staring at the lack of bars on her phone’s screen, willing just one of them to come back.

Regina rolls her eyes, like the lack of signal is just further proof of Emma’s maternal incompetence. She fishes her own phone out of her pocket, pressing the screen a few times and then holding it up to her ear before pulling it away and giving it a strange look.

Emma smirks. “You too, huh?” She turns around and pulls the door open. Or at least she tries to pull the door open. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t move when she pushes on it either. 

“Problem, dear?” Regina asks with mock concern.

“Yeah,” Emma says, pushing against the door as hard as she can, putting all her weight into it. “It’s stuck.”

Regina rolls her eyes and reaches for the door. But she can’t open it either, and the two of them spend a few more second trying to get it to budge, both of them pushing and pulling until Emma’s arms starts to ache.

Finally, Emma gives up with a sigh. “What the hell?” she says. “Did you magic the door shut or something?”

“Yes, Miss Swan,” Regina says sarcastically. “I’ve been trying to get you alone for months now, so I put an enchantment on the door so that—” she stops mid-sentence, her mouth still open.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asks, confused.

“Oh god,” Regina says, sounding legitimately worried. She reaches out and her hand against the door, closing her eyes as she presses her palm against the wood. After just a couple of seconds, she pulls her hand away and opens her eyes. 

“What?” Emma demands. “What is it?”

Regina’s just staring at the door, wide-eyed. “ _Shit_."

“What?” she asks again, glancing back at the door. It looks like a regular wooden door, except for the whole refusing to open thing. 

“A curse,” Regina says, still just staring at the door. “Fuck.”

“A curse,” Emma repeats, incredulous. What is it with this town and curses? “What curse?”

“My mother...” Regina says, trailing off and looking strangely lost for just a second before she pulls herself together. When she does, she sounds as obnoxiously regal as always. “When we were looking for Rumpelstiltskin’s dagger, she put an enchantment on this cabin, so that if he came here, we’d have him trapped.”

Of course she did. Emma sighs. “Wouldn’t he just be able to magic his way out?” 

“No,” Regina says, as though this should be obvious. “Because of the enchantments we put on it, no magic can be used here.” 

It takes a second for that to sink in and then Emma’s stomach drops. “Wait,” Emma says, feeling panicky. Oh no, oh god. “Does that mean you can’t use magic either?” 

“You catch on quickly, Miss Swan.” 

“So we’re trapped here?” 

“It would appear so.” 

“For how long?” 

“Until someone finds us.” 

“You're kidding,” Emma groans. She's glad Henry's safe and all, but she's going to kill the kid the next time she sees him. 

“Those are the rules of the enchantment,” Regina says, talking to Emma like she’s a slow child. “We can’t break the curse from inside the cabin, and the only way we can get out is if someone finds us and lets us out.”

Ugh, of course. Of course Emma would get stuck in Rumpelstiltskin’s enchanted log cabin with the Evil Queen. Because that’s just how her life is these days.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something before?”

“Excuse me for being a little preoccupied with the fact that my son had gone missing,” Regina snaps, as though their predicament is proof of her superior love for Henry. “Besides, the curse was only triggered because you closed the door.”

“Oh no,” Emma says. “No way. You’re not blaming this one on me. This is all your fault, Your Majesty. And you’re going to get us out of here.”

“It’s unbreakable from inside the cabin,” Regina says, speaking slowly, like Emma’s a complete idiot for not knowing about magic-proof-magic or whatever the hell is going on here. "I can't get us out of here. Only someone from the outside can."

“Okay,” Emma says, more to herself than Regina. That panicky feeling is still in her gut, but she takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. “It’s okay. I’m sure David and Mary Margaret will realize we’re missing before too long and they’ll come looking for us, right?”

“Right,” Regina agrees, rolling her eyes. “I have no doubt Snow White and Prince Charming will once again come to save the day. But until then, we’re stuck.”

“So what do we do now?” Emma asks.

Regina shrugs, walking over to pull the sheet off one of the chairs near the fireplace. When she does, a huge plume of dust puffs out of the cloth, making Regina cough a little. “Now,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face, trying to clear away from the dust. “We wait.”

*

Emma manages to wait for exactly six minutes before she gets antsy and starts trying to open the window next to the front door. Just outside, the curse glows, purple and shimmery.

The locks slide open fine, but then when she pushes at the pane of glass, nothing happens. It just sits there, mocking her with its immovability. 

It’s almost completely dark outside, night falling quickly, and she can see both Regina reflected in the glass behind her. Her majesty is perched on the sofa, her legs crossed, and even in the blurry reflection Emma can see that she’s smirking. Ugh. She seriously hates her life.

She tries the window a few more times, but nothing happens. In the reflection, Regina’s smirk turns into a cruel smile. 

Emma ignores her as best she can, focusing all her energy on getting the hell out of the cabin. It’s getting chillier inside and, outside, it’s started to snow, just little flurries drifting down past the window. 

Finally, she gives up any pretense of calm and grabs one of the straight-back wood chairs sitting near the door, hurling it at the window. It bounces off with a dull thud, and Emma resists the urge to start sobbing.

Behind her, Regina sighs. “Are you quite finished, dear?” 

Emma blows a strand off hair off her forehead and sighs. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m done.”

*

After that, there's not much left to do but settle in for the night.

The cabin is small, just a couple of mostly-bare rooms. There’s a kitchenette, and small bathroom off the hall, and one small bedroom in the back with a double bed and a tiny closet, empty except for a couple of plastic clothes hangers. 

"Okay, well," Emma says. “I say we flip a coin to see who gets the bed and who gets the couch.”

Regina laughs, looking legitimately amused. “I’m sleeping on the bed, Miss Swan.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” Regina’s still smiling, but there’s a dangerous edge to it, one that speaks of decades of getting her way. 

“No way,” Emma scoffs. “We’re only stuck in this hell-hole because of your curse-happy approach to problem solving. You don’t get to just order me around and take the bed.”

“And just how exactly do you plan to stop me? Are you going to fight me for it?”

Emma smirks, stepping closer to Regina, one hand already curling into a fist. “I thought you said magic wouldn’t work in here.”

“Oh, I don’t need magic, Miss Swan,” Regina says, taking another step towards Emma until they're practically nose-to-nose. Emma can smell Regina's perfume, something sharp and vaguely spicy.

Suddenly Emma laughs, this hysterical feeling bubbling up inside of her. Because, seriously? Is she really about to get into a fistfight with the Evil Queen over a crappy bed? Her life has taken some really weird turns lately. 

“What?” Regina says, sounding legitimately alarmed by the fact that Emma might find anything to laugh about in their current situation. “Are you having some kind of a fit, Miss Swan?”

Emma scrubs one hand across her face and sighs. “It’s just...are we really about to fight over who gets to sleep on the bed? That’s totally absurd, right?”

“I’m taking the bed,” Regina says again, her voice hard. 

Emma throws up her hands in defeat. “You know what? Fine. Take the damn bed. It’s one night, what do I care.”

Regina smirks like she’s won some kind of huge victory, before turning on her heel and heading back to the bedroom.

Emma watches her go, glaring at Regina’s suit-clad back as she walks away, before she turns back to the old, ratty couch with a sigh. Outside, the snow’s still falling, a little harder than before, the flurries sparkling a light violet through the haze of the spell. 

When she pulls the sheet off the couch, a giant plume of dust puffs out into Emma’s face making her sneeze.

Once the dust clears, she settles in on the couch, wincing a little at the scratchy fabric and the aura of dirt emanating from the cushions. She can’t believe Regina just claimed the bed like that. Or, actually, she _can_ believe it, but it just pisses her off. 

Ugh, whatever. It’s just for one night, she reminds herself, turning onto her other side and trying to get comfortable. How bad can it be?


	2. Day Two

In the morning, Emma wakes up with a start. She can hear wind howling through the trees outside and rattling against the shutters on cabin windows. And, while that’s loud, isn’t loud enough to wake her up.

What _is_ loud enough to wake her up is Regina banging around in the kitchen, slamming drawers and cabinets and basically just making Emma’s life miserable. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Emma groans. She sits up and immediately regrets it. Her back is in knots, and she’s got one hell of a crick in her neck. She rolls her head, wincing as her neck cracks loudly. 

“There is nothing to eat in this kitchen,” Regina says, slamming another cabinet, loud enough to make Emma flinch. 

“What?” Emma says, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. 

It’s darker in the cabin than she would expect, and as soon as she glances towards the window she can see why. The snow has picked up, falling hard enough that she can’t make out much more than a flurry of swirling whiteness beyond the glowing purple haze of the curse. It's cold inside, but not nearly as cold as it should be considering there's only a small space heater to warm the whole cabin. Apparently, the enchantment keeps out the cold just as well as it does their cell signals, so. That's something at least. 

Regina doesn’t seem bothered by the blizzard happening outside, just keeps banging around in the kitchen. “There is nothing to eat,” she says again, her voice low and dangerous, like Emma’s somehow responsible for the lack of food in this crappy little cottage.

“Here, let me look,” she sighs, tossing the sheet off her and stumbling to her feet. The wood is cold under her feet, and her back is stiff and achy from sleeping on that horribly uncomfortable couch. 

Regina’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, a scowl on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. She’s still wearing her suit from last night, looking just as sleek and polished as always. She’s even got her heels on.

Next to her, Emma feels incredibly scruffy and small in her jeans and t-shirt and bare feet. She straightens her back despite the pain, raising her chin a little. “So, what have we got?”

“This,” Regina makes a sweeping motion with her hand, gesturing at a small pile of things on the table in the kitchen. “This is all there is.” 

Apparently, Rumpelstiltskin’s kitchen is stocked with:

\--nine bottles of water  
\--seven granola bars  
\--two cans of soup  
\--a box of matches  
\--a fifth of MacCutcheon whisky

It’s...not much, Emma will give her that. But it’s not nothing either. They’re not going to be here forever (hopefully), so. It’s not like they’re going to starve to death any time soon.

“He probably planned this whole thing,” Regina mutters, glaring bitterly at their meager supplies.

“Who?” Emma says, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s way too tired to be dealing with Regina’s particular brand of obnoxious this morning.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Regina sneers. 

“I think you’re giving him a little too much credit,” Emma says.

“And you’re giving him too little,” Regina says. She looks at the pile in front of her and frowns. “He can see the future, you know. He probably knew this was going to happen and made sure there was nothing left in this dingy little shack. Probably hoping we’d starve to death.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Are you always this paranoid first thing in the morning?” 

Regina doesn't answer, just gives Emma a disdainful look, like she can't possibly imagine anyone being so dumb, and then grabs one of the granola bars from the table. She's already ripping into the wrapper before Emma can think to say something. 

“Wait,” Emma says, reaching up to take hold of Regina’s wrist before she can take a bite of the food. Her skin is warm beneath Emma’s hand, and she can feel the quick beat of Regina’s pulse fluttering against her fingers.

“Wait, what?” Regina asks, yanking her arm out of Emma’s grasp.

“Don’t you think we should be a little smarter about this?” Emma says.

“I’m eating a granola bar, Miss Swan. It doesn’t require much thought.”

Emma rolls her eyes. At this rate, she’s going to have one hell of a headache by noon. “I mean rationing out our food.”

“Rationing our food,” Regina repeats, sounding like this is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “We’re not in the midst of a war, Miss Swan.” 

“No,” Emma says. She has been up for less that five minutes and she’s already more annoyed than she can remember being in recent memory. “But from the looks of it, we are in the middle of a blizzard.”

Regina scoffs and takes a bite of the granola bar with relish, her teeth clicking loudly in the quiet of the cabin. She chews for just a second before her face falls. 

Emma smirks. “Good?”

“Delicious,” Regina says haughtily, mumbling through the mouthful of what is probably incredibly stale granola.

Regina finishes the whole thing, of course, grimacing in disgust the entire time as Emma watches with a smile.

*

“I really hope this lets up soon,” Emma says, staring at her reflection in the glass. It’s snowing so hard she can’t see anything beyond the purple-whiteness right outside the window, the trees of the forest just a vague blur.

“Hurts being abandoned, doesn’t it?” Regina says with what sounds like genuine delight, and Emma doesn’t even need to look at her to know she’s smiling.

“They didn’t abandon us,” Emma says sharply. “It’s a blizzard. They’ll come when the snow stops.”

Regina snorts. “Right.”

“They’re going to come,” Emma says firmly. It’s getting colder in the cabin, and she wraps her arms close around her body, trying to keep warm.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Regina murmurs, and Emma finally turns to glare at her. She’s sitting in the middle of the couch, looking about as cold as Emma feels, her suit jacket wrapped tight around her, and her arms crossed over her chest.

There’s a huge stone fireplace taking up one wall of the living room, and Emma walks over to it, crouching down to see if there’s any wood inside. There’s not, of course, it’s all ashes and little charred pieces, but at least that means it will hold a fire. She saw a big pile of firewood stacked on the front porch, and she’s halfway across the room before she remembers that she can’t open the door to actually get to the firewood. She scrubs a hand across her face and groans. 

“What's wrong?” Regina demands. 

“Oh nothing,” Emma sighs. "Just thinking about how much my life sucks."

Regina rolls her eyes as Emma sits next to her on the couch, as far away from Regina as she can get, leaving enough space for another whole person between them. Regina ignores her, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away, which. Fine. It’s not like Emma wants to spend her afternoon chatting with Regina anyway. So sitting here in silence sounds perfect.

It is really getting cold in the cabin, but her jacket is draped across the other arm of the sofa, resting under Regina’s arm. So Emma just crosses her arms over her chest and closes her eyes, hunkering down against the cushions and trying to pretend she's anywhere other than here.

*

Emma doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up with a start. Regina is looming over her, her hands up near Emma’s neck, her cool thin fingers brushing her throat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emma gasps, twisting away from her.

“Nothing,” Regina says, sitting back quickly, moving away from Emma. 

Emma’s heart is racing in her chest, and she can still feel the cool softness of Regina’s hands against her skin. 

“Like hell it was nothing,” Emma says, forcing herself to relax, to calm down. “You were...” she sits up straighter and her jacket slides down off her shoulders. Emma looks down at it confused. Was Regina just...tucking her in? “Wait. What were you doing?”

“You were shivering,” Regina says, sounding defensive. 

“Oh,” Emma says. Now that the jacket’s off her shoulders, she can feel how much chillier it’s gotten in the cabin, goosebumps popping up all down her arms. She pulls the jacket back up, turning it around so she can slide her arms through the sleeves. “Thank you.”

Regina shrugs, looking kind of hurt. 

Emma should probably apologize, she knows. But, the thing is, it's not like it's beyond the realm of possibility to assume that Regina was trying to strangle her in her sleep. So instead, she just clears her throat and says, “So. What now?”

*

They end up splitting a can of soup for dinner, mostly because Emma’s starving and it’s not like there’s anything else for them to do. They manage to get the stove lit after only three tries, and the soup tastes fine, not like it’s giving them botulism or anything. Hopefully. 

It’s still a miserable dinner, though, both of them sitting sullenly at the dining room table, eating watery chicken noodle soup, the cabin quiet and dark all around them.

“Someone’s going to find us, right?” Emma says, picking up their empty bowls and setting them in the sink. “Before we starve or freeze to death, I mean. They'll find us. Right?”

Regina sighs. “Yes,” she says, in this voice like she doesn’t want to admit it. “They’ll come. The storm will end, and Snow White and her Prince will arrive to save the day.” She scowls and mutters bitterly, "Just like always." 

“It doesn’t have to be like this, you know,” Emma tells her. She just doesn't get why Regina can't let go of the whole ruining their lives thing. Especially since it doesn't seem to do anything but make her even more bitter and miserable.

“Like what?” 

“Like...this constant battle. We’re all family, right?” 

Regina's expression gets hard. “And what exactly do you know about family?” she sneers.

Ugh, god, you know what? Fine. If Regina’s determined to keep up the bitchy queen thing, then fine. Emma’s done with it. She gets up and stomps into the kitchen, looking in the drawers, just to give her something to do. 

“I already did that,” Regina calls to her, as though Emma has managed to forget that not only did Regina make her sleep on the most uncomfortable couch in the world last night, but she then woke her up by slamming every cabinet in the place. 

Emma ignores her, not even sure what she’s looking for, but sure she needs to do something instead of talking to Regina. Because if she has to keep talking to Regina, Emma will kill her, and then Henry will be upset.

So she just keeps opening the drawers, each one of them as empty as the last, until she gets to the one next to the stove and there, at the very back, she finds an old pack of playing cards. Ha. Screw Regina. 

She grabs the cards and a glass from the cabinet over the stove, carrying it all over to the table and then pouring a healthy dollop of whisky into her glass. 

“What are you doing?” Regina demands. 

Emma ignores her, sitting back down and dealing out a game of solitaire. 

“Miss Swan?” Regina says, annoyed. 

Emma takes a sip of whisky and flips over her first card. Seven of spades. Nice. She puts it on top of the eight of hearts. Beside her, Regina sniffs in disapproval.

She gets through almost half the cards in her hand before Regina sighs and leans closer to her, pointing down at the three of diamonds. “Put that one on the four,” she commands. 

“Do you mind?” 

“I do, actually.” Regina moves her chair a little closer so that she can get a better look at the cards. “You’re playing wrong.” 

Emma ignores her and turns over another card. Ace of hearts. Excellent.

“You’re supposed to turn over three cards at once, not one,” Regina tells her, tapping one shiny red fingernail on the discard pile.

“No, you’re not,” Emma says, moving the two of hearts onto the ace, which frees up the three of clubs and then the four of diamonds.

She smiles to herself as she flips over the next card -- the eight she's been waiting for -- and then finishes up the game, moving all of the cards into their four neat stacks.

“Seems a bit of a hollow victory,” Regina mumbles. And then she just reaches over and takes a sip of Emma’s whisky like they have the kind of relationship where they just casually share each others’ drinks rather than the kind where they’re practically on the verge of killing each other every second of every day.

“Hey!” Emma takes the glass back, her fingers brushing up against Regina’s as she does. “Get your own.”

“Fine.” Regina rolls her eyes, but gets up to get another glass from the kitchen. “Deal something we can both play,” she calls. 

Emma scoffs but deals the cards into two equal stacks, one for her and one for Regina. At least if they’re playing against each other, Regina will resist the urge to tell her what to do. Probably.

“What are we playing?” Regina asks once she’s back at the table, a tumbler full of whisky in front of her.

“Egyptian War,” Emma tells her pushing one pile of cards in her direction. “You know how to play?”

“I do,” Regina says with a small smile. And then adds: “It’s Henry’s favorite.”

Emma smiles back. “Mine, too.”

The smile drops from Regina’s face. “Of course it is,” Regina mutters, grabbing the cards out of her hands a little roughly. Emma resists the urge to sigh. 

*

They play until Emma’s hand starts to throb, red and tingly from all the slapping. She only has two drinks, but she gets drunk pretty quickly, feeling kind of loose and lightheaded, everything starting to take on a soft hazy edge.

Regina wins the final game, which puts her up one game on Emma, and she grins victoriously as she hands Emma back the cards.

“Don’t get too excited, Your Majesty,” Emma says. For some reason, she can’t seem to stop the small smile that’s tugging at the corner of her lips. Regina just looks so _pleased_ with herself for winning a card game, of all things. “I’m already working on my strategy for tomorrow night’s game.”

“Oh, I look forward to your attempts to best me, Miss Swan,” Regina says with a smile. And the thing is, she sounds like she actually does. What’s weirder is that Emma’s kind of looking forward to it, too. Man, she must really be drunk.

When they get up, they both head in the direction of the bedroom. It’s not until they’re halfway down the hall that Emma stops. “You know it’s my turn for the bed, right?”

“As I told you last night, Miss Swan. I’m taking the bed.”

Emma sighs, scrubbing a hand across her face. “Come on, Regina,” she says, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Do we really need to do this again?”

“Apparently.”

“I’m not sleeping on that torture device of a couch again,” Emma says, all traces of affection evaporating in the face of Regina being, well...Regina. 

“Well, I’m not either,” Regina says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. 

“Fine,” Emma says, mirroring her, crossed arms for crossed arms. “Then we can share.”

Regina starts, the muscles in her jaw working, like she’s trying to figure out how to respond. Finally: “Fine with me.”

“Seriously?” Emma says, raising her eyebrow skeptically.

Regina just turns on her heel and walks into the bedroom, leaving Emma out in the hallway.

Okay, well. Emma sighs and follows her into the room. It’s small, with the bed sitting in the middle of the room and just two small bedside tables on either side. 

Regina’s over on the side next to the window, her back to the doorway. She’s already kicked off her shoes, and she's in the process of taking off her jacket when Emma walks in. She looks strangely vulnerable, standing there in her bare feet, her dark hair brushing against the pale skin on the nape of her neck, and the whole situation just suddenly feels way too intimate, so Emma ducks into the little bathroom across the hall. 

In the little mirror over the sink she looks rough, dark circles under her eyes and her hair flat and greasy. She takes a deep breath and washes her face, using the little dried cake of soap next to the sink. The water’s freezing as she splashes it against her cheeks, gasping at the cold, but it helps sobers her up a little more, things coming more tightly into focus. 

Once she’s finished, feeling about as clean as she can between the crappy soap and the slightly mildewy smelling towel, she strips off her jacket and her boots and then pads back to the bedroom in her bare feet, still feeling a little unsteady from the whisky. 

The bedroom is dark when Emma gets there, lit only by the eerie purple glow of the curse shining softly through the one small window on the far side of the room. 

Regina’s already in bed, the covers pulled up around her shoulders, and Emma slides in beside her, careful to stay close to the edge of the mattress. The bed is amazingly soft compared to the couch, and Emma takes a slow, deep breath, relishing the way her back doesn’t feel like it’s about to break in half.

“I hope you’re not planning on doing that all night,” Regina says from right next to her ear, and Emma jumps.

“Jesus Christ,” she says, putting one hand to her chest, feeling the way her heart is racing. “It was just a sigh, Regina. Christ.”

“Good,” Regina says disdainfully. She’s on her side, facing Emma, her face barely visible in the dim violet light. “I’m a light sleeper and if you’re going to be snoring all night I’ll never be able to sleep.”

“It was just a sigh,” she says again. Regina’s breath, warm and smelling vaguely of whisky, puffs gently against her cheek.

She sighs again as her heart starts to slow down, and Regina makes an annoyed noise beside her. 

Emma ignores her and closes her eyes. It’s very quiet in the room, just the muffled sound of the wind from the storm and the quiet, steady sounds of their breathing. She can feel the heat of Regina’s body beside her, and she slides a little closer without meaning to, feeling warmer than she has since the snow started. 

Beside her, Regina’s breath changes slightly, this little hitch that Emma just barely hears, and then Regina shifts too, moving so close that her foot bumps up against Emma’s ankle. Her toes are freezing, but Emma doesn’t move, just stays where she is, feeling warm and strangely content as she drifts off to sleep.


	3. Day Three

Emma wakes up before dawn, the room dark and silent all around her. 

She feels kind of warm and content, and it takes her a couple of seconds to realize the comforting weight pressed up against her back is Regina. The Evil Queen is snoring lightly, her arm thrown casually across Emma’s waist, their bodies pressed close and their legs entangled. 

It’s...incredibly weird, but also kind of strangely comfortable. Even so, Emma takes the opportunity to slide back over to the edge of the mattress, moving away from Regina. 

When she does, Regina makes a quiet sound of protest deep in her throat, but she doesn’t wake up, and Emma closes her eyes as she curls up on her side, as close to the edge of the mattress as she can get. 

It takes her a long time to fall asleep again.

*

The next time that Emma wakes up, the room is brighter and Regina’s head is on her shoulder and her arm is resting heavy against Emma’s stomach, one hand snaked under the hem of her t-shirt, her palm pressed flat against the bare skin below Emma’s ribcage.

The bed is warm and cozy, and the whole situation is just completely surreal, like maybe Emma's still stuck in a dream. When she moves, trying not to wake her, Regina blinks up at her sleepily, looking strangely vulnerable in the dim light of the cabin, her hair rumpled and her face creased with sleep lines. 

She’s got a small scar just above her lip, and Emma squints at it curiously, vaguely wondering what happened to her there. 

“What are you doing?” Regina demands, but she doesn’t sound particularly imposing, her voice low and raspy with sleep. Still, Emma starts, trying to pull away, but she's hindered by the way that Regina's basically laying on top of her.

So Emma just raises her eyebrows and looks pointedly down at where Regina’s got one leg tossed over Emma’s.

“Oh,” is all Regina says, sliding her leg off Emma’s and rolling onto her back. Her hair’s all mussed, and she yawns hugely, rubbing her eyes with one hand before turning to glance out the window behind her. 

“More snow,” she mutters when she sees the blizzard still swirling outside. 

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face and staring up at the ceiling. Without Regina pressed up against her, she’s already getting cold, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. 

It’s quiet in the room, and Emma just lays there for a couple of seconds, listening to the muffled sounds of the storm and Regina’s slow, even breathing. 

Emma yawns and stretches and...wow, she smells...yikes. She wraps her arms around her chest, trying to contain her disgustingness. Luckily, Regina doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps glaring out the window at the snow.

“Did you find any clothes in your great cabin search yesterday?” Emma asks.

“No,” Regina says, glacing at Emma sidelong, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Which is strange, don’t you think? That Gold would leave this place empty?”

Emma rolls her eyes. Geez, Regina really is paranoid first thing in the morning. “Are you sure you looked everywhere?”

“The cabin has three rooms, Miss Swan,” Regina says, sitting up and adjusting her shirt from where it’s gotten rucked up, exposing a thin strip of pale skin at her waist. “There aren’t many places to look.” 

Now that Emma's noticed just how gross she feels, she can't seem to think about anything other than changing her clothes and maybe taking a shower. "Well, let's try anyway." 

*

They end up finding a hatch door under the rug in the dining room, and they pull it open to reveal a steep set of rickety wooden stairs leading down to the basement.

Neither one of them makes a move to go down there, both of them kneeling at the next to the door and squinting into the darkness. “Well,” Regina finally says, nudging Emma none too gently. “Go see what’s down there.” 

Emma sighs, but she grabs the box of matches off the table before lowering herself down, trying to get her footing on the steps. It’s very dark and very cold, much colder than it is the the main part of the cabin, the air stale and musty smelling.

“What’s down there?” Regina asks.

“I can’t really tell,” Emma says, taking a tentative step away from the stairs, shuffling her feet through the dirt on the floor. She takes the box of matches out of her pocket, lighting one, but it’s barely enough to cut through the darkness, and it takes Emma’s eyes a few seconds to adjust. 

Once they do, she can make out some boxes stacked along the walls, but that’s it. And she hears some shuffling from one of the corners. Probably it’s snakes or rats or something. Awesome.

“Miss Swan?” Regina calls, making Emma jump a little.

“It’s too dark to see anything,” she calls back, and then Regina’s suddenly making her way down the stairs, holding a small flashlight in one hand.

“Where’d that come from?” Emma asks, annoyed, shaking the match out before it burns her fingers.

“I’m always prepared,” she says, holding up the flashlight attached to her keychain. Ugh, she really is the worst.

Regina shines the light around the basement, illuminating some boxes and a large wardrobe pushed up against the far wall. 

“Let’s start with that,” Emma says, nodding at the wardrobe. Regina keeps the small beam of light trained on it as they walk across the basement, and Emma stays close behind, keeping on hand lightly pressed against Regina’s shoulder.

After just a couple of steps Regina glances back at her. "Stop that," she demands, trying to shrug Emma’s hand away.

“No way,” Emma says. “You’ve got the light, I’m not letting you get too far from me.”

“Are you scared of the dark, Sheriff Swan?” Regina sounds delighted by this possibility.

“No,” Emma says. “But I’d rather not step on a snake or a rat or something.”

Regina stops dead in her tracks, sweeping the beam of the flashlight at the ground at their feet. “Snakes?” she asks nervously.

“Maybe,” Emma shrugs and nudges Regina to keep moving. “And I’d rather not take my chances.”

They manage to make it across the room without incident, both of them more than a little jumpy. The wardrobe is, unsurprisingly, packed with clothes, almost all of which seem to be suits and ties. But then, folded at the bottom are a few pairs of silk pajamas, which she hands to Regina before moving on to the pile of boxes next to her.

It takes them a while to sort through everything, but they do, even if most of the stuff down there is junk -- ledgers and receipts and weird knick-knacks that apparently didn’t make the cut for Gold’s pawn shop -- but their search does turn up a mildewy box of books, a couple dusty bottles of red wine, and finally, tucked behind the boxes, a small gas water heater.

Emma feels so grateful at the possibility of a shower, she almost sobs in relief. There's still plenty of matches left, and she and Regina manage to get the pilot light lit before grabbing their finds and make their way back up the stairs into the main part of the cabin. 

They’re both filthy by the time they get upstairs, covered in dirt and dust and cobwebs, and they take a few minutes trying to brush it all off them. 

“I can’t wait to take a shower,” Regina says, grimacing as she brushes a strand of brown cobwebs out of her hair. It gets stuck on her shoulder, and Emma reaches out absentmindedly and plucks it off her shirt.

“God, me too,” Emma groans, just the thought of standing under a spray of hot, clean water making her feel better than she has since they’ve gotten here. 

“Well, I think I should --” Regina starts, but Emma holds up her hand to cut her off.

“Why don’t you take the shower first,” she says, sitting down on the floor and starting to sort through the pile of things they brought up.

“Oh,” Regina says, looking strangely disappointed at Emma not putting up a fight. “Okay.”

*

It takes a lot less time than Emma thought it would to sort through everything. Mostly because there’s not much to sort through. The pajamas seem clean enough; they smell a little like cedar and mothballs, but anything’s got to be better than wearing her t-shirt and jeans for another second. The box of books just contains a few crumbling paperbacks, but she takes out a few that she thinks might be interesting.

When she’s finished, she can still hear the shower running, Regina apparently determined to use up all of the hot water. It’s getting pretty cold in the cabin, the giant stone fireplace almost taunting her with the promise of how much warmth a nice roaring fire could bring. 

Emma looks around hopelessly for a pile of firewood to magically appear, before her eyes finally settle of the chairs sitting around the dining room table. The wood looks unfinished but sturdy, perfect for getting a fire going, so she pulls one over to her, picking it up and swinging it against the wall with a satisfying crack. It falls into pieces, and Emma grabs one, snapping it in half. In the bathroom, the shower’s still going. 

She makes it through two of the chairs pretty easily, and then she’s got a nice pile of wood stacked in the grate, so she grabs the matches again to get it started. 

By the time she hears the shower shut off, she’s onto the third chair and the fire’s starting to catch. She’s just finished breaking up the slats on the back of the chair when she feels a sharp sting in her left thumb.

Emma curses under her breath, jerking her hand back and staring down at what is possibly the worst splinter she’s ever gotten in her life. The sliver of wood is at least half an inch long, and it’s buried deep in the pad of her thumb, the skin around it already turning a bright, angry red. 

Man, it really, really stings, and she glares at the half-broken chair in front of her as she puts the tip of her thumb in her mouth, trying to soothe the pain a little. “Stupid chair,” she mutters, kicking a little at the scrap of wood in front of her.

“Are you quite alright, Miss Swan?” Regina asks lightly from somewhere behind her. 

“I’m fine,” Emma says, shaking her hand, like that can make the horrible stinging feeling in her thumb go away, as she turns around. “I just --” 

Regina’s standing in the hallway, dripping wet and just wearing a thin white towel, her legs long and bare and tan in the flickering light from the fire, and Emma just did not expect her to come out of the shower still pretty much naked. 

“Miss Swan?” she Regina, raising an eyebrow.

“I, uh...” Emma says, shaking her head and looking away from Regina and back at her hand. “I got a splinter.” 

“Oh,” Regina says, and then suddenly she’s walking towards Emma, leaving a small trail of water in her wake. “Let me see.”

She holds out her hand, palm up, and Emma puts her hand in Regina’s without even thinking about it. 

Regina’s skin is soft and clean against Emma’s dirt-caked hand, her fingers still warm from the shower. When she leans down to squint at the splinter, a drop of water drips off the tip of her nose, landing on Emma’s palm. 

“Come on,” Regina says after a couple of seconds. She’s still holding Emma’s hand, pulling her down the hallway.

“What?” Emma asks, trailing a step behind Regina, following her without really knowing why. Above the towel, Emma can see the hard knots of Regina’s spine. 

Regina leads her into the bathroom, finally letting go of Emma’s hand and then kneeling down to rustle around under the sink. The room is still filled with steam from Regina’s shower, the air warm and thick. Emma just stands in the doorway, her thumb still throbbing. 

When Regina stands up, she’s holding a pair of tweezers and a thin, silver needle. “Come here,” she commands.

“What are those for?” 

“I’m going to help you remove the splinter, Miss Swan,” Regina says, a slight edge of annoyance creeping into her voice.

“Can’t you just magic it out or something?” Emma asks.

“And here I thought I was supposed to be giving up magic,” Regina says, eyes wide with mock-innocence. “Besides, I told you: no magic in the cabin.”

“You said you couldn’t use magic to get us out,” Emma says, hedging. “Not that you couldn’t use magic at all.”

“Do you think if I could use magic I would have spent half of my day pawing through Rumpelstiltskin’s cast-offs in a vermin-filled basement?” Regina demands. “Now come here.”

Emma hesitates, looking around like she might be able to find another possible excuse. But her thumb really does hurt, and she doesn’t really want to just leave the splinter in there. With her luck, it’ll get infected and she’ll get gangrene and Regina will end up having to cut off her hand. 

So Emma sighs, going over to lean against the sink. Regina takes her hand again, more roughly this time, and starts prodding at it gently, scraping one red fingernail over the splinter. Emma winces. 

“Sorry,” Regina murmurs, and Emma blinks in surprise. Did Regina really just apologize to her?

For her part, Regina seems not to have even noticed. She’s still touching Emma’s hand, using the needle to work the splinter out, leaning down so closely that her nose is almost brushing the pad of Emma’s thumb. The point of the needle stings, but not nearly as much as Emma would have expected. Especially since she basically expected Regina to just gouge the thing out, pain be damned. But she’s being incredibly gentle about it, biting on her lower lip in concentration as she coaxes the splinter out. 

Emma stays as still as she can, watching as a drop of water fall onto Regina’s bare shoulders, snaking its way down her skin to the towel she’s got wrapped around her chest. 

Emma can’t seem to stop staring at the line of Regina’s collarbone, sharp and delicate under her skin. She smells like soap, clean and vaguely herbal, and her breath is hot against Emma’s hand. The air around them is warm and wet. 

When she finally grabs the tweezers and yanks the splinter out, Emma flinches, the sting sharp and intense. “Sorry,” Regina murmurs again, and then she kisses the pad of Emma thumb where it's scratched. 

It's quick, just the barest brush of her lips against Emma's skin, but they both freeze. 

“Um,” Emma manages. Regina’s still holding her hand, and there’s a thin line of blood where the splinter was. “Did you just kiss my finger?”

“Of course not,” Regina says, but her cheeks are pink and she’s not looking Emma in the eye. She lets go of Emma’s hand and takes a few steps back.

“Regina!” she says. She can still feel the press of Regina’s lips against her skin, warm and soft. 

“It was a force of habit,” Regina says. She sounds flustered and the pink of her cheeks is even brighter. Emma didn’t even know Regina was capable of blushing. 

“Do you make it a habit to kiss people’s fingers?”

“I have a son,” Regina says, as if this is news to Emma and not the entire basis for their relationship. “Sometimes he’d get splinters, and I’d take them out, and then kiss them to make them better.” Regina’s still not looking at her, gathering up the tweezers and the needle and putting them back under the sink. 

“So did Henry get a lot of splinters when he was little?” Emma asks, keeping her voice casual and easy. 

Regina sneers. “It must be difficult to constantly be reminded of all the things you don’t know about him.”

God, why is she so terrible? 

“You know what, Regina?” Emma’s thumb stings and her hair’s getting all frizzy from the steam and she doesn’t understand why Regina insists on making everything between them so difficult all the time. “If I hadn’t given him up you never would have gotten him, so just let it go okay?” 

Regina blinks. “Well,” she says. “You should shower, Miss Swan. You smell terrible.”

*

Emma’s shower is not nearly as hot as she’d like, since Regina did in fact use up most of the hot water. But it’s still nice, and she stays under the water until it starts to get uncomfortably cold. 

When she steps out of the shower, she realizes she doesn’t have anything to wear other than the clothes she had on before. And she’s definitely not putting those back on. So she just wraps the towel around her, trying to position it to give her as much coverage as possible. 

In the living room, Regina’s sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, dressed in a pair of black silk pajamas, a water glass full of red wine in one hand and one of the paperbacks they found in the basement in the other. 

The fire is blazing, making the room seem warm and cozy for the first time since they arrived. The rest of the clothes are still piled on the floor, and Emma kneels down to pick through them, finding another pair of pajamas identical to the ones Regina has on.

She brings them back to the room and puts them on, before heading back out to the living room. She pours herself a glass of wine and selects another book -- _Jane Eyre_ \-- from the pile and sits on the other side of the couch from Regina.

She’s only three pages into the book, when: “He used to climb the apple trees,” Regina says. 

“What?” 

“Henry. When he was little, he had this strange fixation on the apple trees behind the house. He used to just hang all over them like some kind of monkey,” Regina says with a wistful smile. “He used to get about three splinters a day.” 

Emma smiles, imagining a tinier version of Henry clambering up the tree, trying to get to the highest branches. “Why’d he stop?” 

Regina’s face gets dark. “He fell. Broke his arm. After that, I forbade him from getting near it ever again.” 

She still looks upset by it, like she's going over her failure to protect Henry from regular kid accidents even however many years later, and Emma feels a surge of gratitude towards her. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. 

Regina looks up sharply, eyes narrowed like she's trying to figure out Emma's angle. “For what?” 

“For taking such good care of him,” Emma says. 

“I--” she starts, stops. “You’re welcome, Miss Swan.” 

Emma smiles ruefully. “Do you think you could you cool it with the 'Miss Swan' stuff?” 

“I’m sorry?” Regina says, like she doesn’t have any idea what Emma’s talking about.

“Regina," Emma practically groans. "We’re going to be stuck in this damn cabin for god knows how long. We slept in the same bed last night. We share a son. Just...call me Emma, okay?”

After a beat, Regina nods, and Emma feels strangely relieved. 

“Alright," she says. "Emma." The name sounds strange on her tongue, but Emma appreciates the effort.

*

They spend most of the afternoon reading in front of the fire, neither one of them talking. It’s a comfortable silence, though, even if it is a little surreal, sipping wine with the Evil Queen in their matching pajamas.

They split the last can of soup for dinner, and then resume their card game from the night before. Regina’s hair has dried into slightly frizzy waves, and Emma can’t help but notice how different she looks, with her bare feet and her face scrubbed clean of make up. 

*

Neither one of them says anything about the sleeping arrangements, both of them just making their way down the hall to the bedroom. They managed to finish two of the bottles of wine they found in the basement, and Emma’s feeling fine, kind of loose and light headed. 

Regina must be feeling the same way, judging from the unsteady way she’s walking, weaving slightly and bumping into Emma every few steps. Neither one of them has eaten much in the past two days, and subsisting on soup and alcohol is starting to get to them both. 

It’s freezing on this side of the cabin, the air at least ten degrees colder than it was in the living room, and Emma's already shivering as she slides beneath the covers.

“Are you cold, M-Emma?” Regina asks, moving over slightly so that she’s pressed up against Emma, their bodies touching from their shoulders all the way down to their ankles. 

Emma’s stomach flips when Regina stutters out her name, and she tells herself it’s from the wine.

“Emma?” Regina whispers again when Emma doesn’t answer, her breath warm against the shell of Emma’s ear.

“I’m fine,” Emma manages, but her voice comes out low and unsteady, and her stomach’s doing that flipping thing again. 

Beside her, Regina shifts onto her side, moving so that her chin is almost resting on Emma’s shoulder. "Well, I'm freezing," she says, sounding sleepy, her voice slurring slightly. She lays her arm around Emma's waist, tucking her hand beneath Emma's back. Her fingers are like ice, but they warm up quickly, and Emma doesn’t move, just stays stock still and tries to concentrate on getting her stomach to settle down.

After only a couple of minutes, she feels Regina’s breathing change, going slow and even like she’s already asleep. She’s still on her side, and Emma can feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of their pajamas. 

Emma’s not sure how long they lay there like that, but just as she’s drifting off to sleep, Regina shifts, moving closer to her, tightening her grip on Emma’s waist and nuzzling her nose against the sensitive skin below her ear, making Emma's breath catch in her throat. She can feel Regina’s heartbeat, steady against her side.

Outside, the storm rages on, the snow swirling violently beyond the glowing purple haze of the curse. The drifts are as high as the windows now, making the cabin seem even more isolated, cut off from the rest of the world. It’s completely silent now except for the deep, even sound of Regina breathing beside her. 

Emma closes her eyes, letting herself be lulled to sleep by the beat of Regina’s heart.


	4. Day Four

Emma wakes up alone, burrowed under the covers and an empty expanse of bed at her side. She sits up and looks around, confused. The other side of the bed isn't just empty, it's made, like no one slept in it at all. Not that she’s disappointed Regina’s not still in bed with her still, it's just. It’s weird waking up alone after going to sleep _not_ alone the night before.

It’s dark in the room, and a quick glance at the window shows snow piled up so high it’s impossible to see out, just a thick wall of white beyond the violet glow of the enchantment. 

She feels sort of out of it, like she’s slept too much, but there’s not a clock in the room and because of the snow she’s got no idea what time it is. 

So she just stumbles out of bed and into the living room. Regina’s sitting on the couch with her book, her hair smooth and neat, like she's showered and brushed it already. There's fire roaring in the the fireplace, way more intense than the one Emma managed to scrape together yesterday.

Emma blinks and looks around, feeling discombobulated. Regina hasn’t looked at her since she came in the room.

“What time is it?” Emma finally asks, her voice coming out low and raspy with sleep.

Regina glances over at her, disinterested, then looks back at her book. “Almost noon.” 

“ _Noon_?” Emma can’t remember the last time she slept anywhere near this late, not since she moved in with Mary Margaret at least, and definitely not since she's been responsible for getting Henry up and dressed and ready for school. 

She rubs a hand across her face and looks around the cabin. Everything looks pretty much the same, dark and bare and boring. Regina’s still wearing the pajamas, but Emma notices her regular clothes draped over the grate near the fire, a small puddle of water pooling underneath them. 

“Why are your clothes wet?”

“I washed them,” Regina says, as though this should be completely obvious.

“You washed them?” Emma repeats dumbly.

“You didn’t think I’d want to wear Rumpelstiltskin’s tacky sleepwear longer than absolutely necessary, did you?” Regina scoffs, and Emma looks down at her own borrowed, tacky sleepwear, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. 

“Where are mine?” 

“Wherever you left them, dear.”

“Seriously?” Emma says, but a quick glance over to the dining room reveals her jeans and t-shirt laying in a dirty pile near the table. “You couldn’t have washed mine with yours.”

“I’m not your maid, Miss Swan.”

She looks up, not able to stop the expression of hurt and surprise that flickers across her face.

“Sorry,” Regina says, but she doesn’t sound sorry at all, and Emma swears she’s smirking. “ _Emma._ ”

“Whatever,” Emma mumbles, heading over to the kitchen to see about one of those horribly stale granola bars. It was stupid, thinking she and Regina could be anything other than enemies. That even something as simple as having Regina call her by her first name would just be another reason for Regina to act like a vindictive bitch.

She’s done with this whole trying to make peace with Regina thing. They’ll probably just end up dying here together, freezing or starving to death in a couple of days. It’s better if she spends those days not trying to convince herself that the Evil Queen has some kind of secret reserve of goodness locked in her cold, dead heart. 

So she gets her crappy granola bar from the kitchen, grimacing at the way it sort of crumbles when she opens the wrapper. And, ugh, it tastes as bad as she thought it would, stale and flavorless and gross. But she brings it over to the table anyway, stopping suddenly when she realizes all of the dining rooms chairs are gone. 

“Where are all the chairs?” Emma asks, confused.

“I needed the wood for the fire,” Regina tells her, licking the pad of her index finger and turning the page in her book.

“All of it?” Emma demands. “Regina, we need to be careful about stuff like this.” Oh god, they really are going to freeze to death if they don’t get out of here soon.

“You’re not in charge of our supplies, Mi – _Emma._ ”

“Come _on_ ,” Emma says, trying to figure out what she could have done to piss Regina off since last night.

“I was cold, so I built a fire,” she says, setting down her book in her lap and crossing her arms over her chest to glare at Emma. The light from the flames plays off her face, dark and then light again. “Did you want me to simply freeze to death?”

“No, but –”

“Should I have just stayed in bed with you, then?” Regina’s still looking at her, the corner of her mouth curled up in a knowing smirk. “Cuddling until noon?”

Emma feels her cheeks get hot, and she looks down, embarrassed. “No. Okay. No. Just,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. God, she can’t believe she actually thought things were getting better between the two of them, that things might actually change. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“You do that,” Regina mutters, picking up her book again.

Emma just sighs, grabbing her dirty clothes off the floor and heading back to the bathroom.

*

The problem with being trapped in an enchanted cabin with your mortal enemy is that there’s not really any way to avoid each other. Still, Emma gives it her best shot, taking as long as she can in the shower, soaping up her clothes until they look fairly clean, and staying under the water until it turns cold. 

Once she’s done, she bundles up her clothes and heads back out into the main part of the cabin. 

Regina’s still on the couch, and she doesn’t even look up when Emma walks in, ignoring her as she sits in front of the fire. Emma really wishes she could figure out what the hell happened between last night and this morning. Maybe she talked in her sleep? Said something that offended Regina's delicate sensibilities? She tries to think about what it could have been, but she doesn't even remember dreaming last night, just passing out pretty soon after she laid down.

“So,” Emma says as she lays out her wet clothes next to Regina’s. “My hand feels pretty good.”

“I beg your pardon?” Regina’s looking at her, eyebrows raised, like she can’t possibly imagine what Emma’s talking about.

“The splinter?” Emma says, trying as hard as she can to ignore whatever Regina’s doing, why she’s suddenly decided to go full-on Evil Queen again. “You did a really good job with it yesterday.”

“It was only a splinter, dear,” Regina says derisively. “No need to overdramatize things.” 

“Okay, well,” Emma says. “Thanks anyway.” 

Regina waves her hand dismissively. “Well, it’s good to see a splinter won’t fell the Savior of Storybrooke.” 

Emma bites on the inside of her lip to keep from snapping at Regina. Then: “About that,” she says easily. See? She can be totally civil regardless of the level of regal bitchiness being directed her way. “You had no idea who I was when I first came here?"

Regina snorts, shaking her head. “Not a clue.” 

“Did you know about the savior thing at all?”

“No,” Regina grits out. “That was Rumpelstiltskin’s little secret.”

“So what did you expect to happen?” Emma asks, genuinely curious. She always kind of wanted to know the particulars of the whole thing, and she figures that there's no time like the present, trapped in an enclosed space, an all-powerful witch already pissed at her for who-knows-what.

Regina blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you knew Henry was going to get suspicious some time, right? If he was aging and no one else was?” 

“It worked for ten years,” Regina says with a shrug. 

“Seriously?” It’s just...Regina _is_ the Evil Queen, after all. She had to have a better plan than just wait and see.

“When he was old enough, I was going to explain it to him,” Regina says matter-of-factly, as though this would have worked.

“You would have explained that he lived in a cursed town and was being raised by the Evil Queen?” Emma says, just to be sure she’s getting it right. That Regina’s grand plan was to not have a plan. “And you thought he’d be okay with that?”

“He wouldn’t have had a choice,” Regina says sharply. “But then he found _you._ ”

“Regina,” Emma says, exasperated. “You know it wouldn’t have worked like that, right? That you couldn’t have kept Henry forever, trapped in Storybrooke, getting older and older while everyone around him stayed the same.” God, saying it out loud like that makes it sound even worse. Poor kid, no wonder he hopped a bus to Boston.

“He loved me!” Regina says. “He would have listened to me and believed me and stayed with me because I am his mother. But then you showed up...” she says with a sneer. 

“Yeah,” Emma says, throwing her hands up. “I did. I’m here, Regina, and I’m not leaving, not without Henry.” 

“He’s not yours to take!” And she’s suddenly standing, looming over Emma and jabbing her finger in Emma’s face. Her nail polish is chipped, the end of the nail jagged. 

“I’m not trying to take him! “ Emma says, pushing herself to her feet. She’ll be damned if she’s going to let Regina intimidate her. “I never wanted to take him! But you’re running around town trying to kill me, trying to kill my parents, Henry’s grandparents. What did you think was going to happen, Regina? That Henry would just run into your arms after you massacred us all?”

“Well, why not?” Regina demands. “I love him! I’m his mother. I’ve always been there for him, Miss Swan. Always. And you abandoned him. You--” 

And, that’s it, Emma’s done. She turns on her heel and walks back to the bedroom, determined to not speak or even see Regina again for however the hell long they’re going to be stuck here. Forever, if that’s what it takes. 

When she gets to the room, she shuts the door hard, slamming it loud enough to make the walls shake.

“Miss Swan!” she hears Regina yell, followed by the sound of footsteps making their way down the hall. “Emma!” she calls, this time from right outside the door.

Emma ignores her, going to stare out the ice-blocked window. It’s much colder in the bedroom, and Emma wraps her arms tight across her body, trying to keep warm. Behind her, Regina starts pounding on the door. 

Emma figures she’ll just ignore her and then Regina will go away. But she doesn’t. She just keeps pounding on the door, over and over and over again, until Emma’s head starts to ache, the pulse in her temple beating in time with the pounding on the door. 

“What do you _want_ ”? Emma demands, wrenching open the door.

“No one just walks away from me, Miss Swan,” Regina says. And then she actually stomps her foot like she’s a toddler who’s not getting her way. Christ, Emma can't believe she's actually having to deal with this. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, making sure she sounds as not-sorry as she possibly can. “Please, Your Majesty, insult me some more.”

Regina glares at her. “You know, Miss Swan–” she starts.

Emma only kisses her to shut her up, pressing her lips hard against Regina’s mouth, one hand cupped against the back of Regina’s neck, her skin warm beneath Emma’s hand. 

Regina freezes, her body going rigid and still, her breath stuttering in her throat. It takes a long moment before Emma comes to her senses, and then she’s stepping back, her eyes wide and her heart pounding in her chest. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. She’s just, she has no idea what she’s doing, kissing Regina, and Regina’s just standing there, staring at her, this look on her face that Emma can’t read.

“Regina,” she says, desperately. Her hand is still on Regina’s neck, the ends of her hair brushing against Emma’s knuckles. “I am so sorry. I just, I don’t know what got into me. I –”

But then, suddenly, Regina’s kissing her back, one hand wrapped tight around Emma’s upper arm, their bodies pressed together. Emma can feel the beat of Regina’s heart against her chest.

Emma means to stop this -- she really does, she grabs Regina’s wrist and everything, meaning to push her away -- but then Regina’s sweeping her tongue along Emma’s lower lip, deepening the kiss, and Emma can feel the flutter of Regina pulse beneath her thumb, and she forgets why this is such a bad idea.

She opens her mouth under Regina’s, nipping a little at her lower lip, and Regina makes this quiet, desperate sound deep in her throat. Emma leans into her, pressing her body as close as she can get. 

Emma feels dizzy, like she can’t catch her breath, but she can’t bring herself to pull away either, not with the way Regina’s touching her, how she’s gasping into her mouth, her lips soft and sweet against hers. 

The silk of the pajamas is sliding against her skin, the collar starting to slip down her shoulders. When the air hits her skin, Emma shivers, and Regina tightens her grip on her arm, her fingers hot through the her sleeve.

Regina slides her hand up Emma’s arm and around the back of her neck, carding her fingers through Emma’s hair, tugging Emma closer.

When Regina takes a step back, she pulls Emma with her, the two of them stumbling together towards the bed. 

It’s incredibly cold in the bedroom, something that Emma’s reminded of when Regina starts deftly unbuttoning her top, pushing the silk off Emma’s shoulders so she’s exposed to the frigid air. She clutches Regina closer, tangling one hand in her hair and using her other to tug desperately at Regina’s shirt. 

Her hands are shaking and she rips the shirt, one of the buttons popping off, clattering to the floor. In the dim light of the bedroom, Regina’s eyes are almost black, her pupils dilated and huge, and Emma can’t stop staring at her lips, red and wet and swollen. 

“Sorry,” Emma breathes, but Regina doesn't respond, just reaches up and helps her, both of them working at the buttons as best they can. Together, they manage to get Regina’s shirt off and then they’re skin to skin, and oh god, she’s so _warm_ , and Emma doesn’t think she’s ever going to be able to stop touching her. 

When Regina trails a hand up Emma’s side, her fingers ghosting over her ribs and then brushing up against the side of Emma’s breast, she groans, biting down on Regina’s lip a little harder than she means to, hard enough so that she tastes the sharp, coppery taste of blood. And she’s going to apologize again, but Regina keeps kissing her, and Emma feels the corner of her mouth curl up into a half-smile. 

It’s so quiet in the room, just the harsh, ragged sounds of their breathing, and it just seems like there’s nothing else outside of the cabin, like the rest of the world has just disappeared, and it’s just her and Regina.

They fall back onto the bed, Regina holding tightly onto Emma, her palms flat against Emma’s back, her fingertips pressed against the ridges of Emma’s spine. Emma doesn't have any idea what she's doing, and this is probably a horrible mistake, but she can't bring herself to stop, just keeps touching Regina, pressing her knee between Regina's thighs, trying to get as close to her as she can.

Regina’s hair smells like woodsmoke, and she kisses her way down Emma’s jaw, stopping to nip at the pulse point on her throat, sliding her hand down under the waistband of Emma’s pajamas, curling her fingers up and up and up until Emma gasps.


	5. Day Five

Emma wakes up to Regina pressing a kiss against her throat, and she has a brief moment of complete and utter panic, her body freezing up.

It's only for a second, and Emma totally doesn't mean for it to happen, but it's just --she's still half-asleep, and it’s been kind of a quick turnaround for her and Regina, and it’s just, it's like a reflex for Emma, pulling away when someone gets close. 

So she doesn't mean to go all tense, she really doesn't, but before she gets a chance to explain that to Regina, Regina's sliding away from her, rolling over so that Emma's left staring at the hard, straight line of her back.

And god, this whole thing is such a minefield, any slight mistake having her worried Regina's going to revert back to her whole murderous queen thing. But even if she doesn't quite know how to deal with that, Emma does at least know that she wants to try to make it work, try to make this something other than a disaster.

So: “Hey,” Emma says, trying to keep her voice light. "Everything okay?"

Already her body feels strangely cold, empty in all the places Regina's not touching her anymore. She reaches over to put her hand on Regina’s bare shoulder, stroking her thumb softly against the spot below her neck that, after last night, Emma knows is her favorite place to be touched.

Regina shivers, but doesn’t turn around. “Good morning, Miss Swan,” she says flatly, and if Emma weren’t listening for it, she wouldn’t hear the slight tremor in her voice.

Emma rolls her eyes, but she slides her palm along Regina’s shoulder, tugging gently until Regina turns back over to face her. Her expression is hard, but her lips still a little swollen from last night and her hair is a rumpled mess.

“Seriously?” Emma says, nudging her shoulder playfully. “We’re back to Miss Swan again?”

Regina just shrugs, a look of practiced disinterest on her face. “I don’t see why not,” she says.

Emma raises her eyebrows and slides her hand down to touch the hollow of Regina’s throat, tracing her fingers lightly against the red mark she left on Regina’s skin last night.

“Oh, yes, well, that,” Regina stammers, and even in the grey morning light, Emma can see the blush spread across her cheeks. 

And she just looks so enticingly flustered, her cheeks a bright, rosy pink, that Emma drops the whole subtle approach and kisses her, pulling Regina on top of her, smoothing a wild tangle of dark hair behind her ear and holding her close, their bodies pressed flush together, skin to skin.

Regina's skin is hot, and she still smells like the fire from the night before, and before too long she’s relaxed again, her body loose-limbed and pliant as Emma sweeps her hand down the smooth line of her back, tracing the hard knots of her spine with her fingertips as she nips at Regina's lower lip.

When she pulls away, breaking the kiss, Regina makes a noise of protest deep in her throat. The sound makes Emma’s stomach flutter, but she stays strong, pushing Regina lightly away until she can see her face.

“What are you doing?” Regina demands, breathless. Her cheeks are still flushed and her hair is stuck messily to her forehead and she’s basically the most beautiful thing Emma’s ever seen. Still, though, Emma has a point to make, so she keeps Regina at arms length. 

“Emma,” Emma reminds her.

“What?” Regina says, blinking in confusion.

“Call me Emma,” she tells her. “Not Miss Swan. Not anymore.” 

“Fine, dear.” Regina rolls her eyes, then she tries to lean down again, but Emma keeps a hand against her shoulder, holding her back.

“Call me Emma,” she says again, narrowing her eyes in challenge. Her heart's doing that beating too fast thing again, but she keeps her face as neutral as possible, not giving anything away.

"What?" Regina scoffs. "Now?”

“Yep. Now.” 

“You don’t get to order me around,” Regina says, tossing her head slightly to flip the hair out of her face and sounding oddly authoritative for someone as naked as she is. “ _Miss Swan_.”

Emma smirks, letting up on Regina’s shoulder just enough so that Regina drops her guard, and then Emma leverages her body so that she flips them both over, Regina suddenly on her back below her. Emma holds her by the wrists, feeling the way Regina's pulse is racing. 

Regina makes a quiet noise of protest, and Emma smiles, leaning down so that her lips are just barely brushing Regina's. “You really should do what I say, your majesty."

"And if I don't?" Regina challenges.

Emma doesn’t answer, just smiles and moves to press a kiss against Regina’s jaw. Regina makes a low, desperate sound and tilts her head back, giving Emma better access. Emma trails kisses down her neck, nipping and sucking at the smoky-sweetness of Regina’s skin.

“This is what you do to people who don't do what you say?” Regina says, and Emma doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smirking. "How terrifying." Her voice is steady but rough, and she sucks in a sharp breath as Emma flicks her tongue against the pulse point at Regina’s throat. 

Emma just hums and keeps kissing her, moving lower down her body, keeping her hands holding Regina’s wrists lightly. When she slide to trace her tongue along the underside of Regina’s breast, her majesty arches her back and whimpers, her arms tensing under Emma’s hands. Emma eases up a little, but Regina curls her fingers up, lacing her fingers through Emma's so that Emma's still pinning down, the two of them holding hands, their palms pressed flat together.

Emma keeps holding her hands as she makes her way slowly down Regina’s body, using her tongue and teeth against the smooth, hard lines of Regina's skin. By the time she gets to Regina's hips, Regina is practically shaking, her breath coming fast and shallow.

Emma traces the line of her hip with her tongue, and Regina tightens her fingers around Emma's, her sharp red nails biting into the back of Emma's hands. 

“Please,” Regina gasps, arching her hips. 

“Please, what?” Emma murmurs. She scrapes her teeth along the ridge of Regina’s hipbone, smiling a little when Regina’s hips rock upward.

“Please,” she gasps again, glancing down at her, her eyes so dark in the dim light they’re almost black. “Emma, please.”

Emma smiles, sliding her mouth lower and lower until Regina’s writhing beneath her, whimpering her name into the pale violet light of the bedroom. 

*

Afterwards, they’re lying in an exhausted tangle on top of the sheet, Emma pressed close against Regina’s back, one arm tossed carelessly around her waist. The room is just dim instead of dark, and she thinks the sun might be shining behind the snow-and-enchantment covered glass. 

“Does it seem like it’s brighter in here?” Emma asks, propping herself up on one elbow and resting her chin on Regina’s shoulder. 

“It does,” Regina confirms. “I think the storm might be over.”

“Oh thank god,” Emma says with a sigh, an overwhelming feeling of relief flooding her body. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.”

Beside her, Regina doesn’t say anything, and then after a couple of seconds, she rolls out of the bed, keeping her back to Emma as she rustles around on the floor for her clothes. 

She’s pulling on her pajama top when she finally says something. “You must be relieved.” 

“Of course, I’m relieved,” Emma says. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Regina says, but her voice sounds weird, subdued almost. “This whole experience has been a nightmare.”

Emma gives Regina’s back a strange look and gets out of bed to find her own pajamas. “Are you okay?” she asks, finally finding her clothes in a messy pile under the bed.

“I’m fine,” Regina says, not looking at Emma, staring down as she tries to get the shirt buttoned. It gapes a little at her chest from where it was ripped last night.

“Regina...”

“I’m fine, Emma,” she says again, in this way that means she’s not fine at all. “Now if you’ll excuse me...”

“Why do you keep doing this?” Emma demands, reaching out for Regina’s arm, not letting her leave the room. She can still taste Regina on her lips, a hint of salt and wood smoke. 

“Doing what?” Regina snaps, yanking her arm out of Emma’s hand.

“Being nice, and then being horrible.” 

Regina crosses her arms over her chest and levels her gaze at Emma. “I expect I could ask you the same, dear.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, _Emma_ , that one minute you say you believe I’m going to change, and the next you’re accusing me of murder.” 

“Oh,” is all Emma says. Because, the thing is, Regina does have a point. But it’s not like she doesn’t bring this on herself, what with her promising to change one minute and then threatening to kill them all the next.

“ _Oh_?” Regina repeats, incredulous. “Is that all?”

“I want to trust you, Regina, I do,” Emma says, rubbing her forehead. “But you just make it really, really hard sometimes.” 

“No, I don’t,” Regina scoffs, as if this is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard.

“Are you kidding me?” Emma says. “You are the _worst_ sometimes, Regina.”

“I am not!” Regina gasps, like this is news to her.

“Seriously?” Emma demands. “You have literally spent decades trying to kill my parents!” 

“They started it,” she says, lifting her chin in defiance. 

Emma groans, pressing the heel of her hand hard against her forehead. 

It’s just...she’s got no idea how she ended up here, having this conversation. Not that long ago, her life was simple. God, her life was _normal_. She got up, she went to work, she came home. And, yeah, it was boring and quiet and a little lonely, but it was normal. But now, she’s trying to explain to the freaking Evil Queen -- who she just slept with, by the way, and who she maybe, possibly, thinks she may be a little in love with -- why attempted murder is so terrible. 

“What’s wrong?” Regina asks, hands on her hips, like she can’t imagine why this conversation would be bothering Emma at all. 

“Nothing,” Emma sighs. “Let’s just get dressed and get ready to be rescued, okay?”

Regina nods, still looking a little upset. But Emma doesn’t know what she should say, so she just follows her out into the living room so they can get their clothes.

*

“What now?” Emma asks once they're both dressed, the two of them looking out through the big window near the front door. The light coming in from outside is definitely a lot brighter, and she thinks she can even hear the muffled sound of birds singing from outside. 

“Now we wait,” Regina says, sounding resigned, like them getting out of this dingy little shack isn't something they've both been waiting for for days.

God, Emma is actually looking forward to being back in Mary Margaret's cramped little apartment, fighting over which of the four of them get the bathroom, just being with her family again, and suddenly it hits her, why maybe Regina's not nearly as excited about going home as she is, about how she's just going back to her big, empty house, all alone.

“Hey,” Emma says, and she reaches out and takes Regina's hand, brushing her thumb gently along the ridge of her knuckles. “Things are going to be different now, you know? I _want_ them to be different.”

“You say that now,” Regina says, shaking her head. “But as soon as Snow White and Prince Charming show up, I’ll be the Evil Queen again, and it will be you against me.” 

“Regina...” Emma sighs. “Come on, it doesn’t have to be like that.”

“But it does,” Regina says, her voice taking on that familiar edge of annoyance. “This has been going on for decades, Emma. It can’t be fixed by a couple of days trapped in a cabin.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Why can’t it be fixed that quickly?” Emma demands.

“Because,” Regina says and then stops, seemingly at a loss for words. Well, that’s something at least. Finally: “That’s just not how it works.” 

“Well,” Emma says with a shrug. “Maybe that should be how it works.”

Regina rolls her eyes, like she can’t imagine anyone being so naive. But Emma ignores her, leaning in to press a quick kiss against the corner of Regina’s mouth, and she feels Regina relax, her lips curling up into a small smile.

“Let’s try to make it work like that, okay?” Emma tells her, leaning her forehead against Regina’s and twining her fingers through hers.

After just a second, Regina nods. “I--” she starts, but then there’s a crash at the door and then David and Mary Margaret and Henry are there, the three of them outlined against the bright white of the outside. 

Emma drops Regina’s hand and the two of them both take a quick step back. 

“Mom!” Henry yells and then he’s racing towards both of them. She feels Regina stiffen beside her, like she’s bracing herself for Henry to not go to her. But then he’s throwing one arm around both of them, squeezing the three of them together. 

“We found you,” he says, beaming up at her and Regina, still holding onto both of them. 

“You did,” Regina confirms, smoothing a hand over Henry’s head and smiling softly at him. 

Looking at the two of them makes Emma's chest feels strangely tight, so she clears her throat and looks over to where David and Mary Margaret are still standing just inside the door. "So how did you find us?"

"Gold," David tells her. "He did a locator spell. We came as soon as the snow stopped."

"Are you -- " Mary Margaret starts, then stops, glancing between her and Regina, this look on her face like maybe she's starting to suspect something might be up. "Were you okay here?"

Henry's looking up at her, and Emma can feel Regina staring at her. Regina's body is warm against her side, and the mark on her neck is just barely visible under the collar of her suit jacket, dark red against the pale skin on her throat. "We were fine," she says with a casual shrug, looking at Regina sidelong. "Right, Regina?"

"Right," Regina confirms, turning towards Mary Margaret with a sneer. "We were perfectly fine, Snow White. No thanks to you and your Prince."

"Regina," Emma says under her breath, a warning.

But it's too late, the tension in the room suddenly thick and stifling. "You know, Regina, why don't you just--" David starts, taking a threatening step into the cabin, but Emma moves quick to cut him off.

"I am starving," Emma announces, and everyone turns to look at her. "Who's up for pancakes at Granny's?"

"I am," Henry volunteers. He's still got his arms around her and Regina, his head tilted up to watch the grown-ups argue.

"Good," Emma says, almost absurdly grateful that he's there to break some of the tension. "Regina? You want pancakes?"

Regina blinks. "Um," she says, looking confused, like she really did think Emma was just going to take Henry and abandon her.

"Come on, your majesty," Emma says, nudging Regina with her shoulder. "I'm buying."

"Well, in that case," Regina says, and Emma can see how she's biting her lip to keep from smiling. "How could I refuse?"

Henry grins, bouncing a little on his toes, and then lets them both go just long enough to reach down and grab their hands.

From over by the door, Mary Margaret’s still giving them a strange look, but Emma ignores it, figuring she'll deal with that some other time. After all, it's not like Mary Margaret's a stranger to questionable romantic decisions.

So for now, Emma doesn't worry about that, just gives Henry's hand a quick squeeze and smiles over at Regina, the three of them walking hand in hand out of the cabin together and into the bright, clear late morning sunlight. 

**

the end


End file.
